


Knock Knock

by GlitterTeeth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But the sexy kind, Gen, Vampires, i just like writing martin into horrible situations, mentions of vomiting, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterTeeth/pseuds/GlitterTeeth
Summary: Martin hadn’t felt the same since escaping his flat.---Jane leaves Martin with a gift.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Knock Knock

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me in a dream and refuses to leave me. Enjoy this little exploration of a classic Vampire Jane! 
> 
> Cannon, what cannon?

Martin hadn’t felt the same since escaping his flat.

Jon and Daisy had stormed the stairs, shouting his name, and in his desperation he’d opened his front door. Prentis was still there, waiting and smiling sweetly as she dove with razor sharp teeth at his throat. They’d rounded the corner just in time to see her take her first wet-mouthed, painful drag from his neck, and Daisy had spared no time in firing a shot into the back of her head.

It had been a miracle the bullet hadn’t hit Martin himself - instead it just sprayed half of Prentis’ worm-ridden brain across his face. She’d escaped of course, leading her torrent of silver worms with her, but the final look she’d shot at them over her shoulder had managed to look almost reproachful, despite how half of her face was now a bloody, dripping mess.

Jon had carefully helped clean the up the surprisingly neat row of bloody furrows in his neck in the breakroom, before smoothing antiseptic over the whole thing and taping a bandage over it. His mouth had been set in a grim line when he’d told Martin that it was probably better if he stayed in the archives until they’d gotten the whole thing sorted. Martin managed to stop himself from asking what the hell they were supposed to do about a vampire that could survive being shot in the head, but by the tightening in Jon’s face, he guessed his expression had been enough to convey it.

The first week after his escape was- difficult. As time progressed, he found it more difficult to choke down any meals. A fun and unexpected consequence of being forced to live off cold canned food for so long, he told himself. That was why the cereal bars he’d bought had started tasting like sawdust. That _must_ be why curry Tim had bought for them to share had felt so sickeningly wrong in his mouth and as it slid down his throat. That must be why, by the end of the week, he was bringing up everything he tried to force down.

He didn’t acknowledge the fact that his sense of smell had started to sharpen, or how he had stopped being able to tell the difference between a lit and unlit room. How the longer he went without eating, the more feverish he became. Not hungry, but _thirsty._

“You’re being paranoid”, he told himself, as he leaned over the sink in the staff toilets, staring into his reflection. The Martin in the mirror didn’t look especially convinced, but he did, Martin noticed, look pale, and sick, and tired.

It was the Wednesday of week 2 of living in the archives when Elias came down to check on how he was settling in.

It was a little past 9 o’clock, and Martin had only just managed to convince Jon to go home. He’d been running himself ragged in his office, pouring over statements in search of anything that might help them take down a creature like Prentis, but to no avail. He’d left only after Martin explained gently that he would be of no use to anyone if he ran himself into the ground. The archives felt different when he was gone: without him muttering to himself and flicking pages back and forth, the silence was oppressive. It also made it much easier to hear when a pair of smart leather shoes tapped down the stairs to the archives.

“Jon?”, called Martin wearily as he padded past the shelves toward where he’d heard the footsteps. “I thought you said we could start this again in the morni- Oh. H-hello Elias.”

Elias stood, straight backed at Sasha’s desk. He set down the photo he’d been studying – a group shot of the whole archive crew on their first day together – and turned to address Martin fully.

“Martin. I had hoped to catch you before the hour was too late. I understand you’ve been staying in the archives for the past fortnight, and just wanted to go over some- expectations for how you’re keeping the place. I understand the situation is unconventional at best but there are some minor details I needed to go over.”

That sounded dreadfully tedious, and Martin was already functioning on little to no sleep. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for whatever long and soul-destroying lecture Elias was going to perform to him, when he caught something in the air. Whatever it was smelled hot, and sweet, and _appetising_ in a way that food had stopped being. Elias continued to speak as Martin stalked closer, almost mechanically. His thoughts ran syrupy and slow as he inhaled shakily, and the scent flooded through him. God, he was hungry. Hungry, and tired, and shaky, and that scent promised to wipe that all away. That scent promised to hold him warm and safe. He only realised he’d set his hands heavily on Elias’ shoulders when he trailed off mid-sentence.

“Martin, what in god’s name are you doing?”, he managed to splutter as Martin steadily walked him backwards until his back hit the wall. Martin was beyond words, and instead leaned in close to press his nose to Elias’ throat. Here, the smell was so tantalising he could almost taste it. Unable to articulate anything else, he pressed his tongue to the spot instead, barely noticing as Elias began to struggle in his grip. His pulse leapt against his mouth, and the last of Martin’s coherent thought slid blissfully away from him.

Elias was rapidly realising with mounting alarm that he couldn’t quite take hold of any of Martin’s memories, could grasp the cruellest of them and yank them to the forefront of his mind – they slid away from him, couldn’t be pinned. Instead he flicked through them feverishly until he settled on the moment Daisy had taken off most of Prentis’ head. Settled on the memory of the black, coppery ichor that had managed to, against all odds, splatter not only across Martin’s face, but into his mouth and down his throat. Enough to set off this incredibly unfortunate chain of events. Elias cursed his luck, and let his head fall back against the wall, exposing more of his pale throat. There was nothing he could do now but trust that his body would recover from Martin’s first feeding.

As Martin’s teeth slid into the meat of his neck and he lost himself in the decadence of blood from someone so close to The Eye, Elias could only hope that his Archivist wouldn’t be too put out by losing another of his assistants so soon.


End file.
